


In the Valley of Kings

by Elsin



Series: Malfoy Girl [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of) Transgender Character, (technically) Female Draco Malfoy, ...there's a lot of "sort of"s in these gender tags, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Peggy Sue, Secrets, Slytherin Harry Potter, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, gender bending, gender shenanigans, look it's complicated okay?, ooc Pansy Parkinson, well... I based her character on the Pansy from the Rigel Black Chronicles lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-23 15:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/pseuds/Elsin
Summary: If two boys don’t meet antagonistically in Madam Malkin’s, and a boy instead meets a perfectly pleasant girl on a train, and only one person knows what could have been—is it a butterfly effect, what happens next?





	1. A Girl with a Pale, Pointed Face

**Author's Note:**

> This should make perfect sense, I think, without reading _Down in the Valley_ , though that will give some context to what's going on here.
> 
> Fic title from Barns Courtney's "Glitter and Gold".

Try though he may, Harry couldn’t find a single empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He supposed that that was the price he’d have to pay for not arriving earlier and not knowing how to cross the barrier, and knocked carefully on the door of a compartment which contained only a small girl with long white-blonde hair and a pale, pointed face. She turned a grey-eyed gaze upon him as he carefully opened the door.

“Can I join you?” asked Harry, hoping very much that she would let him; he didn’t fancy finding another mostly-empty compartment and asking another person their permission to sit with them. At least here, where there was no Dudley to turn people against him, he wouldn’t have too much of a reputation that preceded him—not until he’d had a chance to form it himself.

The girl blinked at him for a moment. “Be my guest,” she finally said, gesturing at the empty compartment around her. “There’s no one else sitting here.” Harry nodded awkwardly before dragging his trunk in through the door, helped along by the redheaded twins. They put his trunk up overhead for him, and all the while the girl watched, saying nothing, doing nothing.

After he’d pushed back his hair, and they’d seen and asked after his scar, and recognized him (so much for his reputation not preceding him; it had been a nice dream while it’d lasted) they left, and he turned to the girl, who was still watching him. Immediately she colored slightly and looked away. Harry sat down, across from her and slightly offset. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“You know my name, then,” said Harry. “But I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

“Malfoy,” said the girl, turning to meet his eyes. “Lyra Malfoy.” She held out a hand, and Harry took it.

“Is this your first year too?” asked Harry, and Lyra, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. He would have said something more, but at that moment the door opened again, and in the doorway stood the red-haired boy from the family with the twins.

“Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” Harry opened his mouth to answer before looking over at Lyra, who looked like she was fighting to keep something off her face. It had been her compartment first, after all. But she nodded slightly, and Harry turned back to the other boy.

“Of course,” he said, and the boy came in.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” said the boy, after his own trunk was settled up above. “And—are you—are you _really_ —”

“Oh, spit it out already,” said Lyra, sounding bored. Ron glared at her for a moment, took a deep breath, and turned back to Harry.

“Are you really Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” said Harry, and he pulled back his hair to reveal his scar. Lyra had crossed her arms over her chest and was looking out the window. Sometime when Harry hadn’t been paying attention, the train had begun to move.

“Wicked,” said Ron. He looked at Lyra. “And you are…”

“Lyra,” said Lyra without looking at him. Harry noticed that she hadn’t volunteered her surname, but if she wasn’t going to offer it he wouldn’t either. After a moment she sighed and turned back to them. “You’re a first year, too.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Wonder what House we’ll all be in.”

“Slytherin for me, I expect,” said Lyra. At Ron’s scandalized expression, she scowled. “What? Just because your family has been in Gryffindor since time immemorial it doesn’t mean the rest of us are like that. _Some_ of us have lineages from far more respectable Houses.”

Ron didn’t reply for a moment, giving Lyra a long, thoughtful look. Harry, utterly baffled, looked back and forth between them. There was something between those two, though he didn’t know what it was. Maybe it had to do with how they’d grown up in the magical world, and he hadn’t. It had been jarring to hear Lyra announce that she expected to be a Slytherin, after Hagrid had disparaged them so; but of course, as much as Harry was grateful to him, Hagrid was one man. He couldn’t know everything.

“You’re the Malfoy heir,” said Ron finally, and Lyra stiffened at his words.

“Yes,” she said slowly, and Ron frowned slightly.

“Then didn’t you used to be a—hey!” The exclamation was because Lyra had kicked him, and was now glaring at him fiercely. Harry was more confused than ever.

“Yes,” she snapped, presumably in reply to Ron’s unfinished question, and she turned to glare out the window instead, her arms crossed once more. “I did. Doesn’t mean I want to _discuss_ it, Weasley.”

“Oh,” said Ron weakly, rubbing his shin. “Sorry.”

Lyra didn’t offer a verbal response, but Harry thought he saw some of the tension leave her shoulders.

“So,” said Harry awkwardly to Ron. “Your whole family’s been in Gryffindor?”

“Yeah,” said Ron.

The conversation went on for a time. Lyra didn’t participate much, and Harry learned that Ron had five older brothers and one younger sister and, as Lyra had said, all of them were Gryffindors, except for Ron himself and his sister, both of them being too young.

A witch with a trolley full of snacks and candy came by, and Harry excitedly bought some of everything, though neither of his companions did; Lyra rolled her eyes but easily accepted the food he offered her, and Ron eventually gave in and let Harry feed him. Afterwards, they discussed pets. Harry, of course, had Hedwig, and Lyra didn’t have any pets with her; Ron, it transpired, had a rat called Scabbers.

“Is that even allowed?” Lyra asked dubiously. “They’re not on the list.” 

“Percy’s been bringing him since his first year,” said Ron. “I don’t think any of the teachers will mind.” Then he moved Scabbers so Lyra could see him better, and she stiffened for a moment, almost as if she’d seen a ghost. But then the moment ended, and Harry dismissed it; it must’ve been nothing.

“Have you tried any of the spells yet?” asked Harry, directing the question at both his travel companions.

“Not really,” said Ron, as Lyra shrugged.

“I’ve done… a few,” she said. “But you won’t be behind. No one’s supposed to know anything at the beginning.”

“Fred and George gave me a spell to turn Scabbers yellow,” said Ron. “I dunno if it’s real, though. They could have been messing with me.”

“Try it,” said Lyra, her lips twitching towards what Harry assumed was a suppressed smirk. It was the first sign of mirth he’d seen on her. Ron raised his wand, then, and was just opening his mouth when the compartment door slid open.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” said the girl in the doorway. She had bushy brown hair and a bossy look on her face, and Harry and Ron both frowned. Lyra, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, looked like she’d been slapped.

“No,” said Lyra, before either Harry or Ron could say anything. “But I can… I can help you look, I suppose.”

“Great!” said the brown-haired girl. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. And you are?”

“Lyra,” said Lyra.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

At that last one, Hermione’s eyes went wide, and she was opening her mouth to presumably foist a barrage of questions upon Harry when Lyra abruptly got to her feet.

“Come on,” she said, moving past Harry and Ron to the door of the compartment. “We don’t want to let that toad get too far ahead of us, do we?”

“I—I suppose not,” said Hermione, and then Lyra had subtly but firmly herded her out of the compartment, leaving the door to shut behind them.

“…what just happened?” asked Harry, and Ron shook his head at him.

“ _Girls_ ,” he said emphatically, and Harry sighed.

“Girls,” he agreed.

* * *

Hermione looked at the girl—Lyra—who’d so effectively pulled her out of the compartment. Long, white-blonde hair, a pale, pointed face, and grey eyes; she was an inch or two shorter than Hermione and quite thin, but held herself like she was much larger than she actually was.

“Why’d you do that?” Hermione asked her new companion. She was burning with questions for the Boy-Who-Lived, having read so many things about him and especially now that she knew he was her own age.

“What, drag you away?” asked Lyra, as the group slowly began to move once more. “You were about to bombard Potter with questions about him being—well.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” asked Hermione. She wanted to know, after all. At some point, Lyra had moved to walk in front of her; now, she stopped entirely, and Hermione nearly walked into her.

“Merlin’s beard,” said the other girl to no one in particular. “I can’t believe it. It _wasn’t_ just my memories.”

“What?”

Lyra turned to look at her. “Nothing. Just, if you think Potter _wants_ to be drowned in questions on his very first day—questions about something he doesn’t even remember, mind—then I suggest rethinking your analysis.” She paused, then looked around Hermione to Neville behind her. “Say, do you have anything your toad’s been touching?”

“Yes,” said Neville, seeming startled at having been addressed. “I—here.” He pulled a ragged cloth from his pocket, and Lyra took it from him, holding it between her forefinger and ring finger with obvious distaste. From her pocket she pulled a wand.

“Are you doing magic?” asked Hermione, unable to stop herself, and Lyra favored her with an annoyed look.

“Yes,” she said.

“But we haven’t even had classes yet.”

“Maybe I learned at home. _Vestigo_.” At the last word, a purple shimmer covered the cloth and, when Hermione looked, she saw that it also covered the other girl’s eyes, making looking at her face a somewhat unsettling experience. She stood there a moment, before tucking her wand into her pocket and striding confidently off down the train. “Follow me,” she said. Hermione and Neville hastened after her.

Trevor was hiding under a toilet in the girls’ lavatory, and Hermione, seeing the absolutely disgusted look on Lyra’s face when she suggested the other girl pick up the toad, sighed, took the cloth, and picked him up herself. It really wasn’t as bad as Lyra must have thought it was going to be; Neville ecstatically took back his toad, and Hermione’s hands were cleansed easily in the sink.

“Fun as this has been,” said Lyra, looking and sounding completely insincere, “I think I’ll return to my previous traveling companions, if it’s all the same to you.” She turned to go, but Neville called after her.

“Wait!” Lyra paused, and looked back at him. “Thank you,” said Neville. “For finding him, I mean. I don’t know how I’d ever have found him.” This time, Lyra sighed.

“He’d have made his way back; he’s not just a pet, he’s a familiar. They aren’t so easy to lose. You might think of finding a way to track him, though; I won’t always be there to do it for you.”

“R—right. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lyra with a shrug, and then she was off down the train, back towards her former compartment. Hermione and Neville watched her go.

“She’s cool,” said Neville. “I like her.”

“A bit snobbish,” said Hermione, and Neville shrugged.

“She did more than either of us could,” he said. “I’m not going to complain about her attitude after that.”

“That’s fair,” said Hermione. She was burning with questions now, even more than she had been before—now not just about Harry Potter, but also about Lyra no-surname-given. Together, she and Neville made their way back to the compartment they’d been sharing, this time careful to not let Trevor give them the slip. After they’d gotten back, though, Hermione sighed forlornly, and Neville looked at her.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Hermione. “I just—there’s so much to know! I don’t see how I’ll ever catch up, either, if there’s first year students like Lyra running around with spells in their arsenal that aren’t even in first-year texts. And—who is she, anyway? I got the impression she felt like she was someone important.”

“That was Lyra Malfoy,” said Neville, sounding surprisingly confident. “Sole heir and scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy, and her father’s on the Board of Directors for the school. That’s probably why she already knows some magic.”

“How do you know that?” asked Hermione, struggling to keep the accusation from her tone. She wasn’t entirely sure that she succeeded, since Neville seemed to shrink into himself once more. “I mean, you told me that your family didn’t have you interact with a whole lot of other wizards when you were younger. So how?”

“The Malfoy family is politically important,” said Neville carefully. “As for Lyra… I’ve never seen her before, but she’s got the right name and the right look, and there was a bit of a scandal surrounding her about two years ago.”

“How’d a nine-year-old end up in a scandal?”

“I’d… really rather not say,” said Neville, looking down at his lap. “If the library has newspaper archives, I’m sure you could look it up. But it’s not her fault her family’s well-known enough for it to become a Thing, and it really isn’t anyone’s business but hers.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, still disappointed. Maybe she’d go look at the library for the information; if it was on public record it wasn’t really snooping, was it?

* * *

The air in her compartment had grown stuffy, the conversation dull, and Pansy’s legs were stiff from sitting for so long when she decided it was high time she took a bit of a walk about the train. She was making her way down, absently noting how many cars she’d gone through and which people she could recognize where, when she entered a new car and saw a small, black-robed figure with distinctive pale hair. It had been months since Pansy had seen the Malfoy heiress, but there was no mistaking the other girl.

“Lyra,” she said, once she’d gotten close enough that it wouldn’t be shouting. That would just be rude, and undignified besides. Lyra startled slightly, then turned to her, a small smile on her face.

“Pansy,” she replied. “How’s your summer been?”

“Dull,” said Pansy with a sigh. “I asked if I could visit you, you know, but my parents said you were indisposed.”

Lyra flinched at that and twirled a few strands of hair around her fingers. “Supplemental treatments,” she finally said, and Pansy winced sympathetically.

“That sucks,” she said. “What happened? I thought that resolved when you turned ten.”

“I started—I wasn’t regressing, but it looked like it might turn that way,” said Lyra with a scowl and a sigh. “ _Honestly_. The procedure’s been around for _decades_ now, you’d think they would have worked out the kinks. And you’d think it would be easier on kids, but—apparently not always.”

“Is it settled now, at least?” Lyra had turned to look out the windows at the countryside speeding past, and Pansy came now to stand by her side. The daylight was beginning to dim, she thought.

“Mostly,” said Lyra. “It _should_ be all the way, but, well… that’s what they thought last time, isn’t it? But Madam Pomfrey—she’s the school nurse—she knows how to treat it early-stage, and they’ve arranged for me to have enough appointments that if it happens, that’s when it’ll be caught.”

“That’s better than it could be, then,” said Pansy. “Where have you been this whole time, anyway? I thought you mightn’t show up at school at all when I didn’t see you on the platform or the train.”

“I wanted a bit more time before getting back to all our old friends,” said Lyra. She smiled then, a hidden humor that Pansy couldn’t parse woven into it, and added, “And you’ll never guess who ended up joining me in my compartment.”

“Gwenog Jones?” said Pansy slyly, and she laughed outright when Lyra promptly turned red and spluttered at her.

“No!” the other girl finally managed. “Why would you even—she’s a _Quidditch captain_ , for Merlin’s sake, not a Hogwarts student.”

“Then who?”

“Harry Potter.”

“No way,” said Pansy. “I mean—what’s he like?” Lyra shrugged.

“Quiet kid. Nice. Doesn’t have a damn clue what he’s doing, or about anything to do with our world. I don’t think he wants anyone bombarding him with questions.” She paused, then sighed. “I know most of the school already knows my… history… thanks to my family name, but I did stop Ron Weasley from openly asking me about it in front of him, so he doesn’t know yet.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“It’s awkward; and anyway I don’t know what the Muggle world thinks of such things. It’s not such a big deal for wizards, but he might’ve grown up with some funny ideas about it.”

“Can I meet him?” All this talk had only made Pansy more curious. Harry Potter was a legend, of course—but he was also a boy their own age, and she was curious to see what he was like in person.

“You can follow me back, if you want,” said Lyra. “Do try not to make too terrible of a first impression.”

“Hey!” said Pansy as Lyra started off down the train. “When have I ever made a bad one?”

Although Lyra didn’t look back, Pansy was sure that she had lifted an eyebrow when she said, “Does Avon Park, June 1985 ring any bells?”

“I was five! You can’t keep holding that against me—”

They bickered all the way down the car and into the next, but it was a playful sort of bickering. Both of them knew that there was nothing serious meant by any of it, and it was the childish sort of thing that Pansy usually hated to do in public. That day, on the train to Hogwarts, she found that she didn’t quite mind it as much as she usually would have.

* * *

“Whoa,” breathed Pansy. She would have been embarrassed to let the expression of her awe slip out but for the fact that she was far from the only first year to do so. She’d seen photographs, of course, but none had done the Hogwarts Castle justice. Next to her sat Lyra, who had breathed in sharply as the castle came into view and grabbed Pansy’s hand in a bone-crushing grip; Pansy didn’t think Lyra was actually aware of having done so. In front of them were Potter and Weasley, who had been pleasant enough on the train, and who both looked entranced by the image before them.

Soon, though, the boat ride ended; they walked up to the grand front doors; those swung open, revealing a woman who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall; they were left briefly in an antechamber; and before Pansy knew it, they were being led into the Great Hall.

Above their heads, the ceiling glittered with stars; behind her, Pansy heard a girl loudly whispering, “It’s enchanted to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

Then Professor McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat, and it sang its song, and for the first time Pansy truly doubted where she might end up; she was only eleven after all, and she wasn’t really sure what traits she exhibited the most strongly.

“Don’t worry,” Lyra whispered to her as the Sorting began properly. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Which was all well and good for Lyra, considering that she came from two strongly Slytherin families, but was hardly helping to calm Pansy’s nerves.

“Malfoy, Lyra!”

Lyra flashed her a quick grin. “See you on the other side,” she said. Then she was gone, climbing up to the stool, and sitting down on it as McGonagall allowed the Hat to fall over her eyes. Lyra’s face didn’t give away her nerves, but her hands, curled tightly around the edges of the stool, did; that, more than anything, offered Pansy enough reassurance to let her calm a bit.

And so she stood there, and waited to learn what her friend’s destiny would be.


	2. Hat, Hat, On My Head

“Curious. Very curious indeed. I haven’t seen anything like this in years.” The Sorting had was soft and worn, and it covered Lyra’s face down to the nose; seeing was impossible, and thank Merlin for that. It was bad enough to be sitting here and potentially turning into a _Malfoy Hatstall_ ; the rest of the Hall didn’t need anymore of a view than it already had.

_What’s curious?_

“You’re certainly dedicated, I’ll give you that. Most people in your position wouldn’t be able to commit themselves enough to this to actually pull it off, but you’ve got a semi-decent chance.” The Sorting Hat’s musings were… not totally uninteresting, but completely lacking in information as far as Lyra’s actual Sorting was concerned.

_And… what does that mean for me now?_ The wood of the stool, rough under Lyra’s fingers, had a grounding effect. _Where will you put me?_

“That’s the question, isn’t it. You’re no coward… _Lyra_ Malfoy. You could probably manage yourself in Gryffindor.”

_Merlin, please, no. Father would have kittens, and I’d be alienated from everyone important._

“Ravenclaw isn’t really your area,” the Sorting Hat went on, not deigning to respond to the objection. “Hufflepuff, though…”

_Hufflepuff?!_

“Why not? You’re hardly lacking in hard work or even loyalty, at least from a certain point of view; then again, given that you’d rather not work if it’s avoidable, and that your loyalty is… _flexible_ , perhaps not.”

Lyra sighed in relief. The whole Great Hall had probably seen it.

“That leaves Slytherin, and—in spite of the other things you’ve learned to be over the years—you’re still at core that self-same wily, ambitious boy who barely let me touch his hair all those years ago.” Lyra froze, fingernails scraping against the wood of the stool, and tried to calm down. This was what he’d been afraid of all along—that the Sorting Had, being able to read his mind, would _know_. That it would—

_Are you going to tell anyone?_

“That you’re from the future? That you’re not a girl after all, just a boy pretending to be a girl to avoid having to do things you don’t want to? No. That is not my job, _Mr._ Malfoy. I am not a snitch. I am a Hat, and I Sort. That is all.”

_You think I still belong in Slytherin, then?_

In his ear, the Hat laughed. “Of course. Now, this scheme of yours is brazen beyond belief, and that’s a rather Gryffindorish thing, and you’ve lost your aversion to hard work, which could aim you at Hufflepuff, but it’s an intricate, delicate deception above all else—and _that_ , now _that_ , is—”

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat shouted to all the Great Hall, and then McGonagall was pulling it from his head, and he, blinking in the sudden light, made his way to the achingly familiar and yet oddly dissonant Slytherin table.

He slid in next to Tracey Davis, who he’d never been particularly close in this life or his last, and turned to her.

“Tracey Davis,” said Davis, and they shook hands.

“I’d introduce myself,” said Lyra, “but you probably noticed my name already.” Davis laughed, and Lyra turned part of his attention back to the Sorting. Nott joined them, then Pansy, who settled on Lyra’s other side, and then there were two girls named Patil, another girl named Perks, and then it was Potter’s turn.

The Hat slipped down onto his head, and Lyra found himself suddenly nervous. There was no reason he should be; Potter was a Gryffindor through and through, after all, and Lyra had hardly interacted with him long enough to change anything… right?

Minutes passed, but that was all right; Potter had been a Hatstall the first time, too. Lyra was just beginning to relax when the Sorting Hat opened its brim and cried out—

“SLYTHERIN!”

As a stunned silence fell over the Great Hall, Lyra just barely resisted the urge to slam his head into the table. It would have looked quite odd, after all.

_Well_ , he thought dryly. _That’s that timeline buggered, I suppose_.

Moments later, the Great Hall erupted in a flurry of conversation, and the Slytherin table gave muted cheers. Potter stood up slowly after McGonagall lifted the Hat from his head, looking uncertain and at least a little scared, but soon enough he made his way over to the Slytherin table, and sat next to Pansy, hands curling and uncurling, awkwardly twisting his robes between them, as the Sorting went on.

“Stop that,” said Lyra firmly, reaching across Pansy’s lap to grab hold of one of Potter’s wrists. “It won’t help anything.”

Potter didn’t say anything, nor did he stop fidgeting entirely, but at least he was less rough on his robes after that, so that was something. Lyra supposed it would have to do. He’d never seen Potter so unaccountably nervous before, but that had been a different set upon the stage; it had been a whole different story, and already he knew that this play would turn out quite differently than the last.

Finally Blaise joined the rest of them at the Slytherin table, and Dumbledore gave his odd words, and the feast appeared before them. Lyra chanced a look at Potter, and saw him, wide-eyed, heaping food onto his plate. Good. He’d forgotten just how damned _thin_ Potter had been in the beginning; he needed that food. He’d been hungry himself, having not had a substantial meal since that morning, but suddenly he found his stomach had turned to lead.

Glancing up at the head table, he gave Severus—no, no, _Professor Snape_ —a small smile, and then looked one seat down and met Quirrell’s eyes. Abruptly, a sharp pain seared in his left forearm, and it took all his willpower to keep his reaction contained to a choked gasp and a sudden seizing of his arm with his other hand. Lyra dragged his eyes back to the table as he broke into a cold sweat, breathing ragged and ears roaring.

He’d never wanted to scream so badly in his life; he’d had worse pain, the first time, but it had always been some degree of _expected_. Quirrell was one with the Dark Lord, of course, but _Quirrell_ had no Mark, and neither did Lyra. Lyra had _never_ had one, not on this body, not in this life. As quickly as it had come the pain left him, leaving only a pins-and-needles tingling sensation behind.

“Lyra? Lyra, are you all right?” Pansy had lain a gentle hand on top of Lyra’s, and across her Potter was looking nervously at him.

“I’m fine,” said Lyra, though he wasn’t, not really. “Just… lost in thought, I guess.” Pansy probably wouldn’t buy it. Potter, hopefully, would. There was nothing either of them could do in any case.

“…If you say so,” said Pansy, giving him a look that told him in no uncertain terms that she was well aware he was lying.

“I’m really fine,” said Lyra. Potter, to his surprise, snorted.

“And I’m the Queen of England,” he said, and Lyra, startled, let out an unexpected laugh. “I won’t press you,” said Potter, shrugging. “Just thought you should know that neither of us is actually buying what you’re selling.”

“Noted,” said Lyra. Had Potter been this _funny_ before? Not to him, certainly. Then again, _he_ had been an arrogant twat. He’d deserved nothing from Potter.

To Lyra’s relief, the feast, and Dumbledore’s announcements, concluded without any further incidents. He was just getting up to follow the Slytherin fifth-year prefect to the dungeons when Severus appeared unexpectedly at his elbow, towering over him.

“With me, Miss Malfoy,” said his godfather.

“But Professor Snape—” said the prefect, sounding uncertain at this development.

“I shall deliver her to the common room myself,” said Severus.

“Yes, sir.”

Severus put a hand on Lyra’s elbow, and steered him out of the Great Hall and to a less-used set of stairs. It didn’t take Lyra long to figure out that they were headed to the Hospital Wing, but it wouldn’t do to display that knowledge.

“Where are we going?” he asked instead.

“Hospital Wing,” said Severus, an all-too-familiar sneer lurking in his voice. “Madam Pomfrey wishes to run basic diagnostics on you, and to ensure your doses are in good order.”

“They did that at St. Mungo’s,” said Lyra. It was a token protest; he knew it would do him no good, but he could hardly not make it.

“We are all aware of that. However, while Madam Pomfrey trusts them, it will… put her at ease to know that everything is as it should be.”

“All right, then,” said Lyra, and he followed Severus up the stairs.

* * *

Pansy was waiting for him in the Common Room when he returned from the Hospital Wing. It was mostly empty, aside from a few upper-years, who quailed under Severus’ scathing looks and hurried off to their dormitories.

“I trust you can direct Miss Malfoy to the first-year girls’ dormitory from here, Miss Parkinson,” said Severus in the aloof teacher-voice that Lyra knew so well.

“Yes, Professor Snape,” said Pansy, getting to her feet.

“Good. Then get to bed, both of you. You’ll need your rest.”

“Good night, sir,” said Lyra, and Severus gave him a faint smile.

“Good night, Miss Malfoy. Miss Parkinson.”

He turned and swept off before Pansy had a chance to respond, and both of them watched him walk away.

“Come on,” said Pansy after the dungeon wall had slid closed behind Severus.

“Right,” said Lyra. Suddenly he found himself nervous; he was female now, and the castle wards had never shown any indication of reacting to anything beyond that. Surely that would be enough for the dormitory wards. He made sure to follow after Pansy, for if he did not muscle memory would likely take over and lead him to the boys’ dorm.

“Welcome to your home away from home,” said Pansy in a hushed voice with a cheeky grin as they arrived at the door. “Try to be quiet, I think the others may be asleep.” She turned the knob and opened the door, and Lyra followed her through without any incident. He didn’t feel so much as a single brush of the wards against his skin.

He did not sigh in relief. That would show more of his cards than he wanted to, and Pansy already knew too much.

The dorm was much like the boys’; all done in green and silver, with five grand four-poster beds carefully arrayed. His new bed, he noted, was in the corner, and he was glad of that; it would give him a sliver more semblance of privacy, and he needed all he could get. For his comfort, if no one else’s. He wondered if Severus had asked the House Elves to arrange things that way; the man certainly knew that Lyra had been body-shy ever since his procedure, and if he didn’t know the exact reason, well, he didn’t really need to. No one did.

“I’m next to you,” Pansy whispered. “Come on, we should go to bed.”

Quickly Lyra collected his toiletries from his trunk before following Pansy into the first-year girls’ bathroom. Soon after that, he was back in the dimly lit room; he turned his back to Pansy and changed awkwardly. In the morning he’d probably monopolize the bathroom briefly.

Then he fell into bed and pulled the covers up over himself. It had been too long by far since he’d been here, and he’d been awful the last time, but still. Hogwarts was very nearly his second home, and he hoped dearly he’d treat it better this time around.

He fell asleep to the soft breaths of the girls around him, feeling, for the first time in nearly seven years, almost at peace with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh.  
> many of you were excited about the outsider pov.  
> it _will_ continue past here but it is not exclusively as such; apologies if any of you are disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have an update schedule; they will occur sporadically, when I feel like it. It seems only fair to warn you up front.


End file.
